


Come Back Alive

by CollectorOfWonder



Series: The Wren [1]
Category: Mass Effect Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Smut, alternate destroy ending, post-ME3
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-08
Updated: 2020-10-17
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:15:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,383
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26901976
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CollectorOfWonder/pseuds/CollectorOfWonder
Summary: "Pardon the insubordination, but your boyfriend has an order for you. Come back alive."Flitting in and out of consciousness in the wreckage of the Citadel, Shepard dreams of her past and plans for her future. Despite all the hell, the fighting, the losses, the setbacks...she was alive. There was a future to be had, after all.
Relationships: Female Shepard/Garrus Vakarian
Series: The Wren [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1962922
Comments: 12
Kudos: 50





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally a bit darker, but let's be real. It's 2020 and shit's dark enough as it is. Have some hope, even if it's just fictional. 
> 
> The story follows canon fairly closely, with minor alterations mostly in the relationship itself and also in the ending of ME3. Not hugely divergent there, but tweaks it to be less...dumb. I spent all that time making peace between the Geth and the Quarians and I am NOT about to let you ruin all my hard work, Star Child. 
> 
> This is also within the same timeline as my current ME: Andromeda Ryder/Evfra fic, "The Stars that Guide Us". You don't have to read one to read the other, but there are little references between them.

**_Now._ **

_ Who is it? Is she alive? _

_ Dunno. Soldier. Yeah, she’s breathing. Let’s get her to the tunnels. Help me get her hands off this debris. She has a strong grip. _

_ Aren’t we not supposed to move broken people? _

_ Eima can’t help if she’s all the way out here. We gotta get her to Eima. Grab her feet. Wait, take the armor off. We’ll come back and salvage it later. Geez, her hands are strong, pull those fingers open or we can’t get her to safety. _

...

**2183-The Normandy SR-1**

For Eileen Shepard, exercise had always been peaceful and contemplative. She preferred it, like most things in her life, to be a solitary experience: the stretching of each muscle, the calming counting of repetition, the quiet focus of her determination to push each milestone just a little further, just a little more. She’d been asked once where her confidence came from, and if pressed, she’d have to say it was here in these moments, when there was nothing else but the union of mind and body and she truly knew herself. 

The intrusion of a deep and melodic alien voice into her routine was a little irritating, but not wholly unexpected. The turian had been tailing her around the ship for the past few days, watching her as she ate in the mess with the crew, listening as she traded ribald jokes with the pilot or discussed declassified aspects of past missions with Captain Anderson. If Nihlus Krylik wasn’t otherwise supremely disinterested in anything remotely human, she’d have thought he was interested in her. 

Well, she supposed he was, but not in any sort of sexual or romantic sense. He was a Council Spectre, and his attitude and watchfulness reminded her strongly of how Anderson had behaved before putting her name in for the N7 program. 

If she dwelled too long on what the implications were, her stomach would tie itself in knots. It was far better to behave the same as she’d behaved back then: namely, change nothing. She couldn’t control what Nihlus’s ultimate decision would be any more than she could have controlled Anderson’s. 

_ Never pretend to be someone you aren’t. Not for love or money or the world, kiddo. It only ends in disaster.  _

At thirteen, standing in a shuttle bay with her arms wrapped around her chest and tears burning in her eyes, watching her father leave them forever, those words from her mother had rung hollow. But year after year, Shepard found herself returning to them as a touchstone for her life, even if she hadn’t understood then just how true they were. 

She really ought to call her mother at some point, she thought with an inward groan. 

“What  _ are _ you doing?” Some humans found the turian voice upsetting, but she found it rather nice. It was fascinatingly complex and harmonic, and made her wonder what it sounded like to someone with hearing outside the human range. She looked over her shoulder and down at Nihlus, who stood with his arms crossed and head tilted curiously. It was surprising to her how similar body language was among bipedal races, though she hadn’t really thought about it much as a kid. It wasn’t until she’d gone off to training on Earth for several years and then re-entered occupied space amongst aliens again that it struck her.

Shepard looked back up at where her grip was slackening on the makeshift handhold, and let herself drop the last few feet to the mats below. “Climbing,” she answered simply.

The mandibles lining his jaw twitched in what she thought was the turian equivalent of a stifled smile or a smirk. Or annoyance. Maybe both. “Yes, I see that. Perhaps I should have asked  _ why  _ you are climbing.”

Shepard dusted the powdered chalk off her hands and unstrapped the bag of it from around her waist. “Old hobby,” she answered. “If you’re asking why from a physical standpoint, it helps me train tendons and muscles that otherwise are not worked in a traditional human workout. It helps in survival cases to have the strength and balance that rock climbing provides, but as with most specialized areas, it needs constant training to keep that strength up, particularly on the tendons in the forearm and fingers. So I made a makeshift wall out of some scrap.” 

She paused to take a swig of water. “If you’re asking why from a mental or personal standpoint: I like it, and it’s fun. I suppose it traces back several million years to when our ancestors still climbed trees, but I think it has to do with who we are as a species. We see a problem that seems impassable, but we will always find away over, under, or around it.” 

“Humans do this for fun?”

Shepard grinned. “Yeah. Back on Earth and even out on some of the colonies, there are great rock formations to climb. Do turians not do any sort of recreational sport or exercise outdoors?”

Nihlus shrugged. “Not really. With compulsive military service, that’s pretty much got any physical conditioning covered as part of our duty. We do have a form of distance running competitions that I suppose come close: athletes are pitted against each other in sprint races across all sorts of difficult terrain. Harkens back to our ancestry as plains hunters in the same way climbing does for humans and trees, I guess.” 

She set down her water bottle. “Ooo, that sounds fun.” 

He gave her a look. “Palaven’s sun would cook you alive in minutes.”

“So I’d have to compete in an enviro-suit is what you’re telling me.”

“Are you never discouraged, Commander Shepard?”

“Rarely,” she answered honestly. “I’ve always been a bit contrarian that way. Drove my father nuts. He’d forbid me from doing something, and I just took it as a challenge to work around the restriction.” 

He perched on the edge of the weight bench. “Interesting. That is not a common turian trait. At least, not one we like to admit to or value. Pushing against boundaries and stretching the rules are largely frowned upon in the Hierarchy.” 

It was her turn to cock her head. “But you’re a Spectre. Which I would think means either that you’re not very good at conforming to the standard definition of a good turian, or that pragmatism and skill are prized above all other potential flaws.”

Nihlus emitted a sound remarkably like a human snort. “It can be both.” 

Shepard nodded in acknowledgement. “Humans - at least, in most of our cultures - tend to both prize and ostracize those with viewpoints and perspectives outside of the norm. Seems like maybe most turians do, as well?”

“Perceptive,” he acknowledged. “Our people are more culturally unified than yours, but we’ve got the edge of several thousand years on your civilization.” 

“Do you think we’re too young? Not ready for the galactic stage?” She asked the question lightly, keeping any trace of her own thoughts out of her voice. Namely that it didn’t matter what anyone else thought, even other humans: humanity was an avalanche and couldn’t be stopped. Might as well get out and pave the road ahead of it.

Nihlus watched her for a long moment, and she kept her facial expression still. “What I think doesn’t matter in the long run, but if you’re curious...I don’t know. I can’t tell if humanity is truly ready any more than I can tell any other species is, and I don’t know that it’s our job to decide who does and doesn’t get a foothold in the galaxy. Certain measures must be upheld for peace, but… Humanity has potential, Shepard. As do many others.” 

“Bet that opinion didn’t make you too popular back home.”

“It did not, no. I imagine many were not sorry to see me become a Spectre. It meant I was no longer their problem.” 

Shepard finished tucking away her personal items into a small duffle. “I can understand that. I think several COs felt the same way when I was tapped for N7. I was never outright insubordinate or even rebellious, but I...well. I had a habit of bending the rules when I thought the situation suited.”

“Sounds like it worked for you on Elysium.” 

Ah, there it was. It had taken him several days to work up to asking her about the biggest mission note in her service record. Usually it was the first thing out of people’s mouths when they met her. “It could have worked better,” she admitted, thinking of the bodies stacked like cordwood at the end of the day. The fistfull of dog tags jangling in her grip. The family that had shot their children rather than let them be taken, but survived themselves. 

Shit. Elysium had sucked. Shepard knew she couldn’t spiral down into the pit of self-blame and second-guessing her own actions. Objectively, she knew she’d done everything she could and did everything right. At Anderson’s own advice, she’d taken that very human guilt at not being able to save everyone and turned it into fuel: do better. Always do better. 

“Many think you’re a hero.”

“Humans call their bartenders heroes if they mix a strong enough drink. Or their barber if they get a good haircut.” She zipped up the duffel. “Just this morning I called Joker my hero because he located a copy of the newest installment in a fiction series we’re both reading.” 

“So you don’t think you’re a hero, Shepard?”

She turned back to him and had to consciously fight to not cross her arms, not wanting to appear defensive. “I think I’m a soldier, sir. One who may bend rules, but who will fight like hell to accomplish the mission objectives and bring as many lives safely through as possible without compromising those goals. One person’s hero is another’s villain. You can’t get caught up in that kind of thinking. All you can control are your own actions, and the only thing you can do is constantly strive to make yourself better.” 

She’d thought her father a hero, after all, and her mother the villain. It had taken several years for her to start understanding the shades of gray and nuance in every relationship, in every mission. Life was gray.

Nihlus watched her for a long moment, then shifted his weight as he sat, his own body language almost consciously casual. “You know that turian culture is largely based around a concept you term ‘meritocracy’, yes?”

“Yes, I’ve done a little reading on it.” 

His mandibles fluttered again, and she was fairly confident in assessing it as somewhat equivalent to a human smirk. “I would be surprised if you hadn’t, N7.” He waved a hand, the two talons and opposable thumb encased in habitual gloves, whether in or out of uniform or armor. She was curious about that, but it seemed far too personal a question to just roll up and ask someone. 

She’d gotten cuffed by a batarian trader once when she was ten by asking such questions. Her father had been livid with the merchant, but also with her for not minding her tongue around aliens. That wasn’t the first time she’d been told to “stick to humans”, nor the last. She hadn’t listened then, and had no intention of following any of her father’s advice now. 

_ Never pretend to be someone you aren’t. _

“We pick and elevate our leaders not on their ability to follow orders, but on their ability to execute sound judgement. Following orders is part of it, of course, and, well, if you ask me it’s become too prominent a part. But traditionally, it’s also the ability to make the hard choices when the pressure’s on, and the ability to see those choices through and take responsibility for the consequences.” 

Her muscles were starting to ache, being denied her post-routine stretches. She pushed down on the urge to stretch just to see how the turian would react. If it had been that rough-voiced lieutenant, she might have thought otherwise, entertained by how his eyes would follow her frame while he pretended not to be looking. The turian, though, she felt sure wouldn’t react and the provocation would be wasted, even apart from being extremely unwise. She knew next to nothing about him, or even if turians and humans were compatible in that sense, outside of pornography. Plus, sleeping one’s way to Spectre status seemed...counterproductive, though somewhat intriguing enough to file away for a late night fantasy. 

Not that it was wise to be thinking about that lieutenant like that, either, but Alenko could be a quick fling and she’d be off to her next assignment. Much as she liked working with Anderson, she never stayed in one place or on one ship for very long. N7s were a finite resource to the Alliance. A ship was one thing, but the very thought of being stationary on one planet made her feel anxious and closed-in. Product of her spacer upbringing, she supposed. She knew a few others that felt the same way. Others longed for what they never had, but the few of those she knew still tended to flit from one colony to the next, always at the forefront of Alliance expansion.

“Yeah, we try and do the same thing. Outside the military, though, things get a little murky with politics.” She sighed. “Sometimes even inside. But it’s a game of strategy like any other, except a good deal more frustrating.” 

Another flutter of his mandibles. “That hardly changes once the lens is lifted to galactic affairs. Should you encounter the Council, you may find them equally frustrating.” 

Eileen shouldered her bag and shrugged. “Part of N7 training is learning to make do with the tools you have available, and improvising solutions when you’re missing something otherwise vital.” 

When your back’s against the wall, her N7 mentor had been fond of saying, use the wall.

“I see,” he replied. “Thank you for your time, Shepard.” 

“Any time, Krylik.” Surprisingly, she meant it. He was almost a relief to speak to, like talking to another N7. There was an implicit understanding there born of undoubted experience making tough calls. Much like Captain Anderson, but more of an equal than a superior, Spectre status aside. She might be Alliance, unlike Nihlus, but they were both a bit on the outside of this ship and her crew. 

There was a lot to learn from someone like Nihlus, she thought. She looked forward to getting to know him better.

…

**2183-Eden Prime**

Eden Prime was getting worse by the second. First Jenkins, that over-excited puppy of a marine who’d forgotten his training, took a recon drone to the face and now…

“Ah, hell,” she sighed, approaching Nihlus’s body once the coast was confirmed clear. 

“What’s a turian doing on Eden Prime?” Williams gasped. As though one couldn’t say the same thing about the Geth. “Shit, are we at war again?”

Alenko said something to calm her down, but Shepard hardly noticed. She knelt next to Nihlus, wondering if turians had something like dog tags, or if it was respectful to close their eyes...damn. She’d started to like the gruff Spectre. They were a lot alike. 

Shepard reached out and closed his eyes anyway, the sightless emerald green disappearing behind a layer of dark hide. She eyed the wound in his chest, the way the armor split. “He was shot in the back, close range,” she told Alenko and Williams. “I doubt he’d let a Geth that close, and for one to get the drop on him seems...unlikely, from what we know about him.” 

“What are you thinking, Commander?” Alenko asked. 

Shepard grunted as she stood. “Lots of things, LT. None of them good.” 

Williams sighed. “You think it’s to do with this Prothean beacon? And the Geth? This is all just...we were farms and cows and...farmers. Like attacking Kansas back home on Earth. It makes no damn sense unless there’s more to this picture than we’re seeing.” 

Shepard assessed the Chief. She was military born and bred like Shepard herself, it was obvious in her bearing, her speech, her thought process. But there was more under that surface, and she’d proven herself under intense stress. Shepard made a mental note to speak to Anderson about her. The Normandy could use someone like her, especially if Shepard was to be tapped for a Spectre.

She looked down at Nihlus and frowned. That was a big ass ‘if’, now. Not that she particularly cared about the program at the moment. “Okay, let’s find that beacon. That’s still our primary focus, especially if it’s got people this riled up.” 

“Yes, Commander.” 

“What about civilians?” Alenko asked. “Shouldn’t we…”

Shepard tossed him a look. “I get it, LT, but the beacon’s still primary objective. We’re not going to have a problem here, are we?”

He nodded in assent. “No, ma’am. No insubordination here.” 

“Good.” 

…

**_Now_ **

_ Pardon the insubordination. _

The familiar sting of medi-gel made her gasp. Every last nerve was on fire and it hurt to breathe. She closed her eyes against a sudden brightness.

_ Your boyfriend has an order for you. _

A soft voice, young. “Hold still, Commander. I’m going to give you some morphine. We have to reset the bones in your legs and it will hurt.” 

The morphine didn’t kick in fast enough. Shepard screamed.

_ Come back alive. _

…

**2183-The Citadel**

  
  


His voice caught her first. Laced with impatience and frustration, but the note of pleading underneath struck a familiar chord in her mind. The desperation of someone who knows something important but to whom no one will pay heed. Too young. Too headstrong. Just a kid. It was the tone she took with her father, time after time, pleading with the blank wall of his back to just listen to her for once.

_ Listen to me. Hear me. Please listen.  _

The turian C-Sec officer turned to her, assessing her in a quickly clinical fashion, mandibles held tight against his jaw in annoyance. Funny how easy it was to read turians when you paid attention to their mouths. Mandibles were like human eyebrows. “Commander Shepard.”

Shepard returned the frank assessment and filed away the name for reference as he introduced himself and they spoke. Garrus Vakarian. C-Sec. Turian, though not as restrained as Krylik or others she’d met. There was a well of frustration and righteous anger stirring under that careful turian exterior and professional bearing. Xeno body language hadn’t been her best subject, but every N7 had to learn to read a room and the people in it for threats. Vakarian was agitated and had trouble controlling it. Turian equivalent of a hot head, she guessed. 

She liked him immediately. 

“Good luck,” he told her with bitter-tinged resignation. “Maybe they’ll listen to you.” 

…

**_Now_ **

“Commander Shepard, can you hear me? I think she passed out. Listen, Baask, Mimi, Sarus, I need you three to get me more levo medi-gel, okay? I think I can help her, but you have to hurry. Be safe.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Listen, there wasn't supposed to be smut this early, but they couldn't keep their hands to themselves. I also was going to wait to post this, but after the past two weeks in the news cycle, we deserve nice things like Shakarian smut.

**2183 - The Citadel**

Hothead was right. He shouldn’t have taken that shot, even with the cocky arrogance that was backed up by undeniable skill. She let him read her displeasure in her face, but acknowledged the shot with a tight nod. 

The French Canadian doctor gave them a rundown of the situation with the quarian in a halting voice, casting looks at Vakarian from under her eyelashes in a way that made Williams stifle an incredulous snort behind her. The turian seemed to not even notice, which was vastly entertaining. Shepard had to stop herself from smirking. 

When Vakarian turned on his heel - did turians even have heels with those giant dinosaur feet? - and insisted on helping, Shepard turned to Alenko and Williams. With a simple gesture of her head, they took up positions at the head of the clinic just out of hearing range. Good soldiers, both. 

“Why?” she asked simply. 

For a moment he seemed taken aback, but recovered quickly, outlining his reasons with surprising vehemence. She tilted her head. “Is this personal, Vakarian?”

He blinked in what seemed to be the universal gesture of surprise. “I-no, Commander. I don’t know Saren outside of his reputation as a Spectre.”

“Hmm. I’d look at my motivations a little deeper if I were you,” she told him. “I know my reasons include some that are at least a little personal. I  _ liked _ Krylik. He’d have been a great mentor, and I’m pissed that I’m robbed of the chance to learn from him. I’m pissed he was shot in the back by someone he considered a friend. I’m even more pissed because they were both soldiers and soldiers have to trust the people at their six, and betraying that trust? One of the deepest sins you can commit, in my book. Yeah, the Geth worry me. The big picture worries me. Saren’s doing something big and bad and abusing his authority and power in a way that’s gonna be trouble for everyone and needs to be stopped. But the personal angle makes it real to me. I can see it, acknowledge it, and use it. If you ignore something like that, you turn a potential tool into a handicap.” 

He was silent for a long moment. Long enough for her to think maybe lecturing the C-Sec cop was a bad idea. She had no idea how old he even was. He seemed young to her, but then shit, she was barely twenty-five. It just...things seemed so clear to her sometimes, and she was certain what she was saying was true and right. After all, they were largely Alec’s words, and she trusted him more than anyone else, despite what people were saying about his research. But...hell, was it really her place? 

“Every day I’m tied down by rules and regulations when I try and do the right thing,” he said, finally. “But Saren has all the freedom in the galaxy to do the right thing. He could be a hero. He could be an embodiment of justice and law, but instead...instead he betrays everything the law stands for, and everything our Hierarchy has ever taught us.” 

Shepard smiled. “Good. Use it. Don’t let it use you. Now let’s go get this krogan. I’ve never met a krogan before; this is exciting! LT,” she called, “head back and brief Anderson. Avoid Udina, if you can. Williams, you’re with me and our new buddy here.”

Both saluted. Williams glanced at Vakarian doubtfully, but wrangled her face into expression under control quickly. Not quickly enough for Shepard to not see the distrust, but quickly enough to maintain professionalism. It would do, for now. 

Not like she was inviting any aliens on board the  _ Normandy _ or anything. 

…

**_Now_ **

A krogan was rampaging gleefully through her skull. Shepard groaned and cracked one eyelid open despite the protest of every instinct. Thankfully wherever she lay was dim. She opened the other eye.

It took several minutes for her vision to focus, and even then it swam a little. Blinking helped, but it still hurt. 

Her N7-trained instincts kicked in and she began assessing the situation. Small, tunnel-like area. Pallet of blankets or some other soft material beneath her, no armor. Hadn’t half of it cracked and melted off in Harbinger’s beam, anyway? Some kind of gentle glow lamp propped on a crate. A slender, small Asari bent over a cracked but functional datapad. Young. Teenager? Youth? Under a hundred years, at least. Smaller than Liara. 

She looked up as Shepard let out another involuntary groan. “Oh, you’re awake, Commander. Please don’t move. You’re badly hurt. Stable now, at least, just...really badly hurt.”

“Sitrep,” she whispered.

“‘Sitrep’?”

Shepard licked her lips and croaked. “Report. Hurt. Where?”

The asari blinked. “Oh! Yes. Um. Both of your shins are broken. One worse than the other, but I managed to remove any dangerous bone fragments. I don’t have ossification tools, so I can’t re-knit the bones. Everything’s splinted to keep it steady. Your hip was dislocated. Left forearm is also broken, also splinted. Human elbows are complicated, but I think I repaired it well enough for at least partial mobility when it heals. Broken, um, what do you call that bone? Clavicle. Wrapped for steadiness. Spinal inflammation, but nothing broken there, thank the Goddess. The numbness will fade, though when it does you might wish it hadn’t. Your legs are bound to be painful.” She paused and scratched at her scalp thoughtfully. “I thought there were some internal injuries, but your cybernetics seem to have prioritized those and cauterized any dangerous bleeding. That’s some impressive technology. Honestly, it may be the only reason you survived that blast. That and a really lucky fall of debris that blocked most of the incineration after the initial shockwave. Medi-gel took care of the burns and lacerations to your eyes and face. Your focus should return soon, though you do have a bit of a concussion.”

It took several minutes for Shepard to digest the information about her injuries. 

_ Come back alive _ .

“Live?” she managed.

The asari nodded and smiled tentatively. “Yeah, Commander. You’ll live.” A shadow fell across her face. “I...if we can get off the station, at least. The others are out on a supply run.” 

“Others? Where...shit.” She hissed as she tried to sit up. The asari pushed her back down gently. “Where are we?”

“The Citadel, or what’s left of it. Our maintenance tunnels, not the Keepers’. So far, we’ve only found about four dozen or so of us that have survived.” She gave Shepard a wan smile. “Ever heard the term ‘duct rat’?”

Duct rat? Shepard sipped at the water the asari girl held to her lips. Tunnels. Kids. Kids in the tunnels. “You hid,” Shepard whispered. “When they came, you hid in the tunnels. How old are you?”

The asari winced slightly. “Sixteen. But both my parents are doctors. My dad is Salarian. I...well, I’m not old enough to train officially but I listen and I studied, and I thought I’d do some good. I’m small enough to fit in the tunnels, so I started helping the kids here for free. I pilfered medical supplies and food when I could, made sure it wouldn’t cause any bad shortages. I’ve been stockpiling for a few years.” 

“Clever. Name?” She was so tired.

“Eima N’relis. And you’re Commander Shepard. I read your dog tags. That’s what they’re called, right? And I watched the vids. Do you...do you know what happened? The...the Reapers just...stopped. And the Keepers, too. They’re still alive, or whatever passes for alive for them, but they’re basically catatonic. The Reapers seem dark, and all their husks are dead. We’ve been burning them where we can, just chucking them into the incinerators. The older kids anyway, we don’t want the younger ones near them.” 

_ The Crucible isn’t firing. _

_ Come back alive. _

_ Your boyfriend has an order for you. _

_ You did good, kid. _

“I…”

Eima reached out. “It’s okay. Rest. Just, um, rest for now. I’ll get you some rations for when you wake up again, okay?”

_ Come back alive. _

…

**2183 - The** **_Normandy_ ** **SR-1**

Wrex, Garrus, and Tali’Zorah had quickly become Shepard’s favorite people to visit on her rounds, aside from Joker. Things were a little awkward with Alenko now that she was his direct CO. With some people, there might have been wiggle room to...well, wiggle. Together.

Ugh, that was terrible. She always was a wretched mess at flirting and innuendo that didn’t involve guns in some way, shape, or form. Generally, she was flirted  _ with _ , and thus didn’t have to bother. Men and women both seemed attracted to her skill, confidence, and competency, with an intention to see if they could dominate it. Or the desire to be dominated by it. She was all right in the physical department, but knew that wasn’t where her real appeal lay. It lay in the appeal of a fantasy fulfilled: someone proving their worth over her or under her as they wanted, and she let them have the fantasy for a night or two. Then she picked her panties off the floor and went about her business. 

She could use some panties on the floor right about now, which made her rounds with Alenko even more awkward. He was not someone she intended to indulge with while under her command. He was a damn good soldier, but the lines blurred too quickly for him. He was flexible in all the wrong ways when it came to making decisions under duress: far too much self-doubt masquerading as Alliance training. But he was still damned attractive, and had a voice like rough velvet, and it took all of her energy to focus purely on professionalism. It didn’t help that he interpreted every bit of positive feedback she offered him as personal and not professional praise. If he was going to be this obtuse, the least he could do was throw the regs out the door and throw her down on the bed, but no, that wasn’t his style. 

Dr. T’soni was another landmine to dodge, though she seemed to accept quickly that Shepard wasn’t really sexually interested. It wasn’t that Liara wasn’t attractive: she was sweet, pretty, and had curves for days. Women weren’t Shepard’s go-to, but she’d had a lot of fun with some in the past, so it wasn’t that. She just didn’t...well. She had enough information shoved into her mind and enough poking around in there for a lifetime. So Shepard steered the conversations away from Asari, despite her curiosity and Liara’s eagerness to discuss culture, and into Prothean research, which Liara was thankfully equally eager to dissect. 

Williams was always a nice palate cleanser after Alenko and Liara. She was no-nonsense, military stock born and bred like Shepard. Unlike Shepard, she hadn’t grown up flitting from ship to space station to colony to ship to space station in occupied space, and so wasn’t as comfortable around other species. It took some talking, some cajoling, to get her to push past prejudices she wasn’t even aware were there. 

“Turians don’t have cheeks, not like you,” Garrus had called once from under the Mako, where they’d clearly forgotten about him, “but if you’re asking preference, I’ll take the right mandible. It’s my good side.” 

Shepard had laughed herself to tears at the expression on Williams’s face.

Coaxing Garrus Vakarian out of his metaphorical shell had been a delight. He had a dry and dangerously sharp sense of humor she enjoyed, and when relaxed, he was a charming storyteller. He was so idealistic, though. Sometimes it was frustrating, but it was also kind of nice. She couldn’t remember the last time she looked at things in such a binary, simplistic way, and his passion for justice was infectious. It helped remind her of the  _ why _ of her work, not just the how.

Anderson had commented once that she was too young to be so jaded, but Shepard hadn’t been idealistic since she was ten or twelve. When you lost confidence in the people who were supposed to protect and support you, it had a way of coloring the way you saw the galaxy.

It was also why she enjoyed talking to both Wrex and Tali. Tali was still young, still energetic and hopeful, but she was also whip-smart and deviously clever. She’d hesitated to take Tali on a ground mission, but tested her on a few short runs with low stakes and been impressed. The quarian could hold her own and had an innate sense of battlefield tactics. With a little joint coaching from both Shepard and Vakarian (whose sense of place and awareness on a battlefield was also incredibly impressive), Tali quickly learned how to control the field with her drones and traps. With Tali on the field and Garrus at her six with his sniper rifle, she felt more confident and deadly in a fight than she had in years. 

Wrex was just fun to have around in a fight. It was obvious as well that krogan suffered from some terrible stereotyping. Wrex was violent, to be sure, but no more violent than Shepard considered herself. He had tight control of his rage in a fight. Maybe others couldn’t see it, but it was obvious to her. She could see it in how he selected his targets to rush, how well he had control of his biotics, how he employed an enviable and experienced fight intelligence. He was damn smart, as well. 

It surprised them both how much she agreed with him about the krogan and their future. Wrex was distrustful at first, figuring her for a manipulator, but hours of conversation had led them into a surprisingly deep friendship. Confiding about parents, about betrayal, discussions of philosophy and hope, old battle stories...for all that he was an entirely different species, Wrex might have easily been family. 

Their talks eventually drew in Garrus, as he would work silently on the other side of the cargo bay while Shepard and Wrex chatted over a drink or two (or ten, in Wrex’s case.) He and Wrex danced around each other a bit, given the history between their people, but again Shepard was both surprised and impressed at how quickly both of them put those preconceptions aside and listened to each other. Garrus took in what Wrex told him and confronted his own prejudices just as Williams had about them. On occasion, Ash would even step into the conversation, if she was in the vicinity cleaning her guns. She mostly asked about Wrex’s exploits as a merc, but those stories were always entertaining, and their laughter usually drew up some of the engineering crew, including Tali. 

Shepard would return from the cargo bay feeling lighter in spirit and more clear-headed. She attributed it to all of them together, but then the mess with Dr. Saleon happened, and...things grew a little more complicated. 

It had been a mess from start to finish, and she was sure she’d screwed up the friendship and trust building between herself and Vakarian. She didn’t regret her actions, not at all. Letting him put a bullet in Saleon’s head would have been satisfying in the short term, but it would have built up either self-doubt or the wrong kind of confidence. Sure, Spectres sat somewhat outside of the law, but it was to fill in the gaps where the law couldn’t reach, not to flout it blatantly. They weren’t vigilantes. That kind of justice sounded good on paper, but never satisfied the way people wanted it to, and it only left more questions and uncertainty in its wake. 

Part of her wanted to let him sit and stew, but she found herself walking down to the Mako where she knew he’d be tinkering to take his mind off his stress. She said nothing, simply sat down with her back against one of the wheel wells and waited. He pretended not to notice her for a while, as he was half under the vehicle. Finally, he pushed himself out from under it and sat up. Grease was smeared across his forehead, and she had a brief but wild instinct to reach out and gently wipe it off with her hand, wondering what his plates would feel like under her touch. She kept her arms crossed instead.

“I’m okay, Commander.” 

“You’re not,” she countered.

He stiffened a little. “I’ve got your six, still, ma’am. Have no doubts.” 

She sighed. “Don’t ‘ma’am’ me right now, Garrus. This isn’t about the battlefield or command. Of course I still trust you on my six, that hasn’t changed. You’re the best shot on board, and I wouldn’t have anyone else in that position.”

He fell silent for a long moment, then shifted his weight to lean back against the Mako. “Did you just admit I’m a better shot than you, Commander?”

She bit out a short laugh. “You wish.” 

“For the truth, yes.” 

She snorted and elbowed his arm. “Ass.” 

Garrus grunted. “Sometimes, yeah. Look, I...I know I have no just reason to be angry with you, Commander, and I’m not, not really. I’m sorry I gave you that impression. I just...I don’t understand.” He sighed in frustration, mandibles fluttering irritably. “I don’t understand any of it.” 

“For starters,” she said, clearing her throat and shifting a little to be more comfortable, “if we’re going to have this kind of deep discussion, just call me by my name, okay? No rank right now.” 

He looked at her, and for once she couldn’t read his expression. “What is it?” he asked finally.

She blinked. “What is what?”

He tilted his head. “Your name, Shepard. Most humans have names like we do, right? A first name and a family name?”

“Oh,” she said in surprise. “Yeah. I...you don’t know from my file? You had to have read something at C-Sec, you know my military history.” 

“C-Sec uses initials. Also my memory’s good, but not that good, and I’m turian, after all. I’m far more comfortable remembering rank than niceties.” 

Shepard laughed. “It’s ‘Eileen’, but just call me Shepard, okay? Only my mother calls me by my first name and every time I hear it, I think I’m in trouble.” 

“Eileen,” he drawled, and a surprising shiver darted down her spine. She wasn’t sure when the multi-vocal turian voice had gone from simply nice to downright sexy, but her name on his tongue did surprising things to her senses. She shoved it firmly aside, and laughed as he’d intended. “Yeah,” he continued, “I understand. I get the same way with my dad, only it’s when he uses my full name.” 

She grinned. “Garrus Arcter Vakarian the Fourth-”

“That’s not even-”

“Garrius Arcterian Vakarius the Sixth-”

He laughed, openly and freely, and gave her a small, companionable shove. It only made her grin wider. God, she hadn’t realized how much she’d missed having someone on equal footing to talk to. “It’s just Garrus to you, Shepard.” 

“Good,” she replied. If she settled in a little closer to his turian warmth, it was only to get comfortable. 

They fell silent for a while, and eventually Shepard sighed. “Look, Garrus. I know what happened was frustrating. I pushed you towards obeying the law and ended up shooting Saleon myself. It wasn’t what I’d intended.”

He grunted. “I just don’t see the difference, Shepard. Why not just shoot him to start with?”

She drew her knees up and rested her arms on them. “Do you remember what I said to you back in Dr. Michel’s clinic? Back when you first asked to join this mission?” 

He drew in his mandibles. “Yeah, but I told you this one was personal from the start. Saleon was as nasty as they come, and I hated that he got away to continue his torture on more innocent people.”

Shepard chewed on her bottom lip for a moment, wondering just how to continue. “Is that all, Garrus? Is that the only way it was personal; defying your sense of justice?”

She felt his body stiffen again beside her. “I don’t-”

“Think about it,” she insisted. “Really think. Why were you so angry that you were stopped from shooting down his ship, even when it might cost the lives of hostages?”

He sat still for a long, tense time, but he didn’t move to get away from her and the uncomfortable questions, so she kept still herself and waited. Finally, he exhaled in a long, ragged breath and collapsed back against the Mako. His head tilted far back, resting the top of it against the Mako door, the edges of his fringe scraping slightly on his armored cowl in a way that couldn’t feel great. He didn’t seem to notice. “He got away from me. That’s why. I failed to bring him in before he could put me in a situation where other lives were at risk. I wanted him taken down, but...I was more furious with myself. Am more furious.” 

“Yeah,” she said softly. “And your dad?”

“Wouldn’t have made that mistake. Shit, Shepard,” he groaned. “How do you see right through me like that?”

“It’s easier to look at other people than it is to look at yourself,” she admitted. “I had a really great mentor in the N7 program. His name was Alec Ryder. He taught me so much, but God, he was so bad at his own life.” She laughed a little, without much humor. “He adored his wife, and she was great, but she got sick and he buried himself in his work, neglecting his kids. His personal life is just a mess, you know? He’s the wisest guy I know, taught me these incredible, insightful lessons, and yet he’s shit at applying those lessons to himself. We all are. Don’t beat yourself up about it, Garrus.”

“You’re not,” he noted. “You’re pretty damn wise yourself.” 

She snorted. “Stop, you’ll make me blush. Next you’ll be admitting that I am, in fact, a better shot than you.” 

“Uh huh,” he drawled, “sure I will. Seriously, though, how do you do it?”

“I fake it.” 

“Shepard.”

“No,” she insisted, “I do, Garrus. Most of the time, this?” She waved vaguely at herself. “This is all persona. It’s a role I have to play, whatever internal doubts I have. It’s armor, and it can’t show cracks. It can’t show weakness. I don’t have that luxury. Not with who and what I am now, the roles I’ve both been maneuvered into and taken on willingly. I cannot be anything less than perfect. I cannot make mistakes, and if I do, I can’t admit them, ever. They just get to sit like dead weights on my mind, and mine alone.” 

He turned to look at her, and for the first time she felt a little uncomfortable under that sharply assessing gaze. “That...that has to be exhausting, Eileen.” 

She had to blink a little against a sudden sharpness in her throat, and a slight stinging in her eyes. After a moment, she drew in a breath and turned her head to meet his gaze. His eyes were a startling shade of blue. She wondered if after all this, she’d ever associate the color with anything or anyone other than Garrus Vakarian. “Yeah,” she admitted, and if her voice was a little hoarse, he didn’t seem to acknowledge it, “it is.” 

He reached up and moved a stray lock of her dark brown, disobedient hair out of her face. His mandibles fluttered again as he realized just how personal and intimate an action that was. “I...sorry, it was in your face, and I just thought that couldn’t feel nice, and…”

His awkward embarrassment was so endearing, she couldn’t help but laugh. “And you just wanted an excuse to finally touch human hair,” she teased. “Go on, then.” She reached up and pulled out her hair tie, letting the thick, dark waves fall forward as she leaned over. “Go on, you know you’re curious.” 

He laughed along with her. “All right, I admit, yes, I am.” She felt his gloved fingers lightly comb through. “It’s so soft!” he exclaimed. “I heard it’s dead, is that true?”

“Like fingernails or talons or whatever you have under those gloves,” she told him. “There’s sensitivity at the root, so it hurts when it’s pulled too hard or caught in something.” 

“Hmm,” he said in thought, and withdrew his hand. “Talons, yes, I guess you could say. Thicker than these,” he noted, and she realized his hand had moved to hers. He tapped her short nails. “Longer, too, usually.” 

“Sharp?” she asked out of curiosity. “Sorry, that’s probably personal. I just noticed turians always seem to wear gloves, so I’m sure it’s some kind of cultural thing and I don’t mean to pry.” 

Garrus snorted. “Yes you do, Shepard. I’ve heard you talking to every person you meet that isn’t human. You’re insatiably curious.” 

“True,” she admitted wryly, pulling her hair back into its habitual ponytail. 

“You’re not wrong,” he told her, “it is cultural. It’s...I’m not sure I can...hmm.”

She shifted to face him as he let go of her hand. “You don’t have to tell me, Garrus, especially if it’s something personal or sensitive. I may be curious, but that doesn’t entitle me to knowledge.” 

He looked at her with the expression she likened to a human smile: his face plates held softly, and mandibles relaxed. “No, it’s not sensitive. I’m just bad at explaining things. It’s like the equivalent of keeping a weapon holstered to show a peaceful intent. Our talons can grow long and sharp, and some specialists in infiltration still keep them that way. It’s like having six combat knives on you at all times. Those are exceptions, though, and even then there’s a little societal stigma, despite respect for military position.”

“The rest of you don’t keep them that way?”

“No,” he said. He hesitated for a moment, then tugged off his glove and showed her his hand. The same thick and richly colored grey-brown hide covered his fingers, which ended in opaque, rounded talons. “We keep them filed down. Gloves are to show how civilized we are among non-family, and among family and friends, the talons are blunted to show how much we care for the safety of our loved ones. It’s...complicated.” 

“I understand, I think,” she said, and before she realized it, she’d reached out to touch the skin of his hand. It was warmer and softer than she’d anticipated, but still thicker and a little more textured than human skin. 

He made a noise in the back of his throat she couldn’t identify. “Your skin is...soft, too,” he nearly whispered as he pressed his palm to hers and traced one of those rounded talons along the line of her thumb.

_ What in the hell was happening?  _

Shepard shivered slightly. “And sensitive,” she pushed past a suddenly dry throat. “Pretty much everywhere, but hands are, um, doubly so.”  _ Why did she just say that? _

“Hands for us too, yeah,” he told her, and his voice sounded as hoarse as hers felt, “and neck, and...uh...the waist, usually.” 

_ Why did heat rush through her at that? This wasn’t even flirting, just curiosity. Right? _

_ Oh God, _ she realized. This was way,  _ way _ beyond simple interspecies curiosity. It wasn’t what Garrus said, but the way he said. The uncertainty, the unsteadiness in his voice, the way his eyes never left hers. She had no idea what the hell this was that had suddenly caught both of them in its snare, but she couldn’t move, could barely breathe. Her entire awareness dwindled down to a pair of blue eyes and the sensation of a blunt talon stroking her thumb, fingers intertwining with her own. She never wanted him to stop. She wanted that careful, caressing touch to move over her arm, her neck, her face, her breasts, everywhere he could reach. She would let him explore every inch of her with that light touch, that piercing gaze, right that moment if he only asked, only showed any intention. 

He didn’t move, but he didn’t waver when she leaned forward slowly, holding eye contact. She was certain his visor told him her heart rate was sky high, but that did nothing to still its pounding as she neared his mouth. “Lips,” she whispered, and gently, softly pressed hers against him. He held still for a moment, then inhaled and moved his other hand up and into her hair. His mouth was hot and firm, and he couldn’t quite kiss her back like a human, but he let her explore and a soft moan escaped when she nudged his mouth open and flicked her tongue against his. 

When she bit the top lip of his mouth, he shuddered and swept her up and into his lap, hand gripping her waist, one gloved and one bare. He was still in his harder armor undersuit, and it bruised her knees as he settled her, but she didn’t care. She couldn’t think about anything other than what was happening where their bodies touched and the intense, surprising desire it was stirring within her. She was no stranger to lust, to sex and fun, but this was another level, and she didn’t think it just that he was turian and it was different and exotic. No, that was part of it, but it was only because it was part of  _ him _ . She’d never felt this unabashedly wild for anyone before, this completely intoxicated by possibility.

His ungloved hand had reached the hem of her shirt and slipped under, and the rough warmth of his touch felt amazing and she tugged it off to give him access. His other hand gripped her backside to pull her close, and she felt a surprising hardness where there hadn’t been before. And it was so  _ warm _ . Her eyes drifted shut as he nudged her head back with his brow and when his tongue traced a line from her collarbone to her jaw, she whimpered and let her head fall back completely, baring her throat to him in a way that made a growl rise out of his chest. 

He drew back, breathing heavily, and whispered her name. “Shepard,” he panted, “Eileen...look at me. Do you…?”

“God yes.” 

That was all the confirmation he needed. He slammed his fist on the Mako door and it popped up obediently. He tugged her inside and had her on her back with the door closed faster than she’d thought possible. “Garrus,” she gasped, as he swiftly tugged her pants down. “Fuck, yes.” She arched her back as his tongue lavished attention up her midsection, and he seemed emboldened by her whimpers of pleasure. 

“Spirits,” he moaned softly. “You smell good. You  _ taste _ good.” He tugged off her bra and the sensation of his tongue sliding over her hardened nipples had her panting and writhing up into him. 

“Unfair,” she countered in a breathy tone completely unlike her, “you’re still clothed.” She reached for him, but he caught her hands and raised them above her head out of reach. He seemed to catch himself and hesitated, but she grinned at him. “Fuck yes,” she repeated. “ _ Yes _ .” She tilted her head back with her throat bared in the way that seemed to turn him on and he growled again. 

“Shepard,” he panted. “That’s…”

“Submissive?” she guessed. “Really fucking hot to you?”

He groaned and licked and nipped at her neck and collar bone in a way she knew would leave marks and couldn’t care less about. She was hot and unbelievably aroused, and if he didn’t touch her soon, she’d scream. 

He tugged off his other glove and his hand delved low, exploring. She bucked into his hand as he found the most sensitive spot, and he worked it for a little while, making her writhe and pant under his heated, steady gaze. The way he watched her reactions was almost too much to bear, with her vulnerable and wild under his touch while he sat still fully clothed in his hard undersuit. She could not think of a single more erotic encounter, and fuck if she didn’t completely forget he was a different species altogether. He was Garrus Vakarian, who was making her maddeningly wet and hot for him. 

“Please,” she moaned before she even caught the words coming out of her mouth, “oh, please, just...fuck…please…I need more.” His thumb, blunt talon and all, slid inside of her and she moaned louder at the feel of his rough skin at her entrance while his other hand worked soft circles around her clit. 

He swore, some of which translated and some of which didn’t. The mixed sound of his language and hers in his voice was surprisingly hot. “Shepard, you’re...oh Spirits, you’re so tight, I don’t know…” She flexed those muscles and tightened around his finger, which made him shudder and growl so low it was almost a purr. 

“Try me, big guy,” she told him, part confident, part desperate. “I can take it. I want it. I...oh, fucking hell, you don’t know how much I need it.” He reached for the fastenings of his undersuit, but she reached out and caught his arms. “Can...can you leave it on?” She bit her lip. “It’s so hot,” she explained to his puzzled look, “I’m vulnerable and I…” she couldn’t find words so instead she just tipped her head back again to expose her throat by way of explanation. 

Vakarian caught on quick, and pushed her back down to the floor of the Mako’s cargo compartment. He bent over her and let her kiss him, groaning a little as she nipped and sucked at his mouth and mandibles. He pressed his forehead to hers and caught his breath. “How hard do you want it, Shepard? Hmm? Eileen,” he whispered into her neck, mandibles teasing her skin, “tell me how you want to be fucked.” 

She arched into a bridge against his body, letting his hands wrap around her waist as he kissed her neck and shoulders in his own way. “Hard,” she moaned. “I don’t want to feel anything but this for  _ days _ .” 

She felt his mandibles widen in what had to be a grin. “Yes, ma’am,” he snorted.

Before she could snap at him in irritation, he pulled her hands above her head again and with a quick snap and release of part of his suit, his cock was sliding inside of her. Her mouth fell open, but all she could manage was a soft, “Oh.”

It was hot, hotter than a human, but then turian body temperatures were higher to begin with. Apart from that, it didn’t feel much different: large, certainly. Thick in a way that made her groan with the fullness of it, the stretch and pressure hitting her just right. Smooth and slick, though she wasn’t sure if that was her arousal or if he had some kind of self-lubrication. It felt like it was wider as he thrust in deeper, and oh shit, it felt so, so good. She lifted her hips to his in time with his thrusts, which were more direct and powerful than she’d ever felt. 

Shepard wrapped her legs around his waist to pull him in as deep as she could get him, and he bit out a curse as their bodies touched. His skin was hot and rough against her clit every time he sank in. He let go of her hands to find better leverage, and she pushed a hand between them to touch and explore. His undersuit bruised her hand a little, and he paused to unlatch the top and pull it off. In the darkness of the Mako, she couldn’t quite see all of him, but the shape wasn’t surprising. Everyone that had ever been in an Alliance Marine Corps barracks had watched Fornax vids. It was practically a curriculum requirement to ensure each recruit had the proper level of randiness to uphold their reputation. She ran her hands over his chest plates, between them, and down around his waist, where the skin was softer. He moaned and picked up the pace of his thrusts, making her breasts bounce deliciously with the force of it. 

When her hand dipped low to caress the skin around his cock and the opening from which it came out - something about radiation protection, she’d heard once - he cried out in pleasure, and shifted so his hands could grab her waist and pull her flush against him. He adjusted her legs to fit around his hip and calf spurs and pushed her thighs wide. The entire length and width of him pulled and pumped and stretched her in ways that made her eyes nearly roll back in her head. When she felt her orgasm build, it grew from the tips of her fingers and toes outward with such force it shocked her. She grunted almost animalistically with the force of it, her whole body tightening around him and shuddering. She grabbed at his bony cowl and pulled herself up and as close as she could get to his body as she shivered through wave after wave of pleasure. 

Her fingers scraped at the back of his head and neck and he gasped sharply when he fingers found a sensitive spot under his fringe just as her legs tightened around his waist. He fell against the rear seat back gasping as his own climax overtook him, and she could feel the hot rush of seed within. Almost  _ too _ hot, but she didn’t mind, even if it stung chafed and sensitive skin as a little leaked out.

As her breath finally steadied and sense came back to her, she sat up, still straddling him, and grinned. “Holy shit,” she managed. 

Garrus looked completely stunned. “Yeah. Wow. That was...wow.” 

She looked down, laughing incredulously at where they were still joined, though she could feel Garrus softening. She looked back up at him. “What the fuck just happened?”

He stared at her for a long moment. “Interspecies diplomacy?” he asked raggedly. 

That startled a laugh out of her and in moments they were holding onto each other and giggling like complete idiots. “Oh God,” she groaned, pressing a hand to her face. “I promise, I don’t usually fuck my crew.” 

Garrus tilted his head. “I didn’t think you did, though it’s a little weird to me that basically no one on this ship is fucking anyone else. Turian vessels are a little more lax with personal restrictions. Professionally more hard-assed about regulations, but there aren’t any rules about sex, just as long as it doesn’t interfere with duties. If it does, then you’re reassigned and that’s that.” 

She raised an eyebrow. “Even sex with your superiors?”

“Even then. It’s understood it has nothing to do with command structure, it’s just...letting off steam.” 

She traced a finger down between the plates on his chest and he sighed contentedly, his eyelids drifting down. “Is that what we just did? Blow off some steam?”

He opened his eyes and looked at her. “Beyond ‘completely hot and stunningly erotic and possibly the weirdest, best sex of my life’, I’m not exactly sure what that was.” 

Shepard tilted her head at him, one eyebrow raised imperiously - which utterly ridiculous considering that she was naked, marked by his teeth and hands, with his fluids leaking out of her most vulnerable body part. “‘Weirdest’?”

“Only you would zero in on that word and not ‘best’ or ‘erotic’ or ‘hot’.”

“Weirdest.” 

He rolled his eyes in a distinctly human gesture he’d picked up from them. “You’re an alien. I just fucked an alien. That’s a little weird for me, yeah. It’s not for you?”

Her thoughts ground to a halt. “Oh. Uh. Yeah. I guess? Shit, Garrus, I wasn’t even thinking about it, not really. Not completely. I mean...you’re different, sure, but wow...yeah, it is pretty weird. We’re not just physically different, we’re from different plants, different histories, and shit...yeah. Okay, yeah, it’s a little weird.” 

He blinked at her. “But it was good, right? That was...that was you finishing, wasn’t it?”

She looked back into his face, and the weirdness of  _ I just fucked a turian _ vanished. It was just Garrus, looking concerned and a little self-conscious. “Oh, God, yes. Yeah. That was...that was maybe the best orgasm I’ve ever had.” 

Garrus traced a talon down her front, between her breasts. “Well now that just sounds like a challenge, Shepard.” 

Before she could respond, a hard, loud knock sounded on the side of the Mako. “Not that I want to interrupt,” Wrex rumbled outside, “but you kids may want to wrap it up quick before any of the human crew get down here.” The rear door opened, and Shepard gasped in surprise, arms reaching up automatically to cover her bare breasts, like it would do any good while she was naked and straddling an equally undressed Garrus. 

Wrex’s bulk blocked any view into the cargo bay -  _ holy fuck, she just had sex with Garrus Vakarian in the back of the fucking Mako in the cargo bay where anyone could have walked in or by or opened the door and they were not being quiet  _ at all - and he held up a piece of fabric that looked absurdly small in his giant hands. It took her a moment to realize it was her shirt. Her shirt that she’d ripped off outside the Mako. In the cargo bay. Where anyone could have come in. Anyone. Williams. Alenko. Oh, god, Pressly could have wandered in. Did the sound carry to engineering? Were they that loud? Had she scarred poor Tali’Zorah and Engineer Adams for life? 

She glanced back at Garrus and saw the same panic in his own face. Turian ships may be different, but the  _ Normandy _ was distinctly a human vessel. Wrex waited patiently, too amused at both of them to even bother leering. Besides, she knew he found humans a little gross with how soft they were. “If I had to see any human’s tits, they’d be yours, Shepard, but I feel like you might shock the other squishies like that. Especially impaled on a turian’s-”

“ _ Yes _ , thank you, Wrex. Kindly close the door, would you?” she hissed, grabbing her shirt from his grasp. The door closing did nothing to hide his guffaws, and she slid off Garrus to try and dress quickly, hoping whatever wetness she couldn’t wipe off wouldn’t show through her thick black casual pants. 

Garrus swore softly as he struggled to re-dress in the tight compartment. “I guess maybe we shouldn’t do this again on the ship. There’s no way I can subtly get to your quarters and it’s not like my cot is big enough or private enough to...” He paused. “Uh. I mean. If you wanted to...do this again sometime, I mean.” 

She paused. “Um...kinda. I do kinda want to do this again, yeah. Do, ah, do you?”

“Spirits, yes. But...I mean...I don’t know. Is this just...sex or…?”

“I…” she paused. “I don’t know. I mean, that was really good, but you’re also...shit, whatever happens, I don’t want to screw up our friendship. We’re...I mean...we’re friends, right?”

“Friends enough that I will never let you forget how adorable you are when you’re uncertain about something, yeah. And also tell you when you’re wrong about being the best shot on board.” 

She smacked him on the shoulder. “Ass.” 

“But yeah, Shepard. You may be the closest friend I have right now.” 

She took a deep breath and smiled at him. “Okay, then. Let’s focus on the mission right now and as a reward for saving the day, we can go have dinner and maybe figure this whole other thing out? I don’t feel bad about this happening, Garrus, I think we both really needed it. But let’s shelve the tough questions until we can take time with them and be sure?”

He looked relieved. “That sounds perfect, Shepard. As long as you understand that even if I’ve been inside you, I’m still going to call you Commander on the battlefield and bridge.” 

Shepard snorted. “You’re damn right you will.” 

“Yes, ma’am.” 

“Ass,” she laughed.


	3. Chapter 3

**_Now - The Citadel_ **

  
  


_ Come back alive. _

_ Your boyfriend has an order for you. _

_ Shepard...I love you, too. _

She inhaled with a gasp and woke quickly, trying to sit up again. The young asari darted to her feet and pushed her back down. “Bad dreams?” 

Shepard grunted. “Not exactly.” 

Eima, that was her name. “You were calling out for someone. Is he…?”

“Garrus,” she whispered. “No, he’s not dead. At least, I don’t think so. But, shit,” she winced and waived Eima away so she could ease herself into a sitting position, “he probably thinks I am. Last he saw me, I was hurtling myself toward the transport beam in London.”

Eima shuddered. “That’s what they were using to pull up...I don’t even know what they were doing with them. Some of them didn’t live, and the Keepers just…”

“I saw,” Shepard said grimly. Eima passed her some water and Shepard was gratified her good hand only shook a little as she held it. “How are we doing here, with supplies and such?”

The girl leaned back wearily against the tunnel wall, looking older than she had any right to, and sighed. “Okay for now. We found a load of dextro supplies, thank the Goddess, but it was from the refugee camps and I’m afraid…” She looked down, and Shepard noted a small bundle on her lap. Another blink or two and the bundle resolved into a very young turian child wrapped in blankets. It was cold in the tunnel, she realized. 

_ Did I ever mention that turians hate the cold, Shepard? _

Shepard managed to scoot over slightly on her palette. “Here,” she said, “humans are warmer than asari. We’re only a couple degrees off from turians.” Eima nodded and gently shifted over the bundle. A little girl, Shepard noted by the shape of the mandibles. Very young, maybe not even a year. They both looked up as an older turian boy, around seven or so, Shepard guessed, entered into the circle of their glow lamp. He looked exhausted and underfed, but something about him was overwhelmingly familiar. In one hand he held some rations, and in the other a specially shaped bottle of thick fluid. For the infant, she realized. Shepard motioned him over with her good hand after setting her water down. “Do you know how to feed her?” she asked.

The boy nodded, and cradled his obvious little sister in his arms, tilting her head back to receive the nourishment. The way she gulped it down reminded Shepard of a little baby bird, and she smiled. 

Tears stung her eyes almost immediately when she realized she was smiling. After everything that had happened, she was  _ smiling _ . 

She was  _ alive _ . Alive and smiling watching two children who miraculously survived. Eima looked sad as she watched them, too, and it nearly broke Shepard’s heart. “Hey,” she said softly, and both older children looked at her, “listen, I know things are scary right now. But the worst is over. There’s a lot of work ahead of us, but right now we’re  _ alive _ , and that’s amazing. We all lost a lot, I know, and that hurts. It’ll keep hurting, for a long time.”

_ Had to be me. Someone else might have gotten it wrong. _

_ Siha. _

_ Shepard-Commander. _

_ I’m proud of you, kid. _

She swallowed and took a deep breath. “But we owe it to everyone who loved us to keep going, okay? That starts with seeing that right now, this moment here - this little girl you’re feeding? She’s alive, and she’ll have a life, and that’s thanks to everyone who protected her and all of you here now. That’s pretty incredible, don’t you think?” 

Eima nodded and sucked in a shuddering breath. The boy looked up at her and blinked. “What’s your rank, ma’am?” he asked in a small voice. A turian’s way of showing respect, asking for rank before name.

She smiled through her tears when she realized why he seemed so familiar. His markings were similar to those Garrus wore, and the same color. Cipritine blue, he called it. Not an overly common choice, but one popular among younger generations born in the biggest city on Palaven. “My name and rank, soldier,” she said with a small laugh, and if it sounded a little watery, they probably wouldn’t notice, “is Commander Eileen Shepard of the Alliance Navy, and I’m a Council Spectre. So if I say you’re doing amazing, you better believe it, okay?”

His eyes widened, and he almost saluted. She reached out and steadied him, keeping him from dropping his sister. “I’m Aerius Drosik, and this is my sister, Rinasa.” 

“Are you cold, Aerius? You can come closer and share some blankets, you and Rinasa both. I don’t mind. I know the cold is hard on turians.” 

He nodded and shuffled as close as he dared, and Eima leaned forward to drape an extra blanket around them all. Shepherd gestured for her to come close as well. “Oh, I don’t need the heat,” she argued.

“But you need the comfort, kiddo, so get on in here. Humans like to hold each other for comfort, we’re social animals. It’s called a ‘cuddle puddle’. I know asari aren’t much different, and turians are willing to put up with it for the warmth.” 

Aerius blinked at her. “Do you know many turians and asari, ma’am?”

She smiled again. “You ever meet Garrus Vakarian when he was working in the camps?”

“No, but I know about him. The Reaper Advisor,” he said with no small amount of awe. His eyes went wide. “You know  _ Garrus Vakarian _ ?”

Oh she would  _ never _ let him live this moment down.  _ Ever _ . 

If he was alive. If she saw him again. 

Shepard swallowed past a tight throat. “Yeah, I know him. He was my XO in all the fighting, and the person I trust most in this galaxy. And two of my close friends are asari; one is even a Justicar.” 

Eima gasped. “No  _ way _ . How do you know a Justicar? That’s so cool!”

She winked. “That’s nothing. My other best friend is practically the king of all krogan.” 

The children both exclaimed and gathered close. They talked for a little while, and Shepard tried to keep the tone light. These children had been through enough as it was. Others joined: an older batarian boy named Baask Torfu, a human teen named Mimi Ramirez, and another turian survivor from the camps named Sarus Kavrik. It turned out he was the one who’d saved and protected some of the other kids from the turian, human, and batarian refugee camps and established contact with the surviving duct rat kids. 

He was older than Aerius, closer to his teens like Mimi and Baask, she guessed from the way he held himself. Close to boot camp, probably. Garrus said that started at fifteen. Sarus carried extra rations and carefully doled them out. When he was finished, he gave a short report to Eima and then at last sat down himself. He waited to ensure everyone’s rations were good before opening his own and eating. A good turian, she noted, as he rubbed absently at his face plates, where white markings intertwined in a pretty geometric pattern. 

“Where are the others?” she asked Eima softly. “You said there were about four dozen.” 

It was Baask who answered. “Back in our home base, ma’am. We took over the Executor’s office and C-Sec headquarters; it was largely untouched in the rearrangement, and we were able to use the space for stockpiling supplies and bedding down. The plumbing isn’t really working, but there’s space enough to keep waste water away from the drinking supply we have.” 

“Any luck with comms?”

Sarus shook his head. “Signal’s dead all over. I tried a few times with some of the shuttle wreckage I could get to.” 

Shepard swore. “Reaper code.” 

“Ma’am?”

She sighed and ran her good hand over her face. “When I activated the Crucible...ugh, it’s all a bit fuzzy, still. I had to do some last minute re-coding to target only the Reaper code, or otherwise the subspace blast would have acted like a galaxy-wide EMP. Basically, it should have disabled anything with fragments of Reaper coding.” And hopefully, she thought, there was enough of both EDI and the Geth to have survived having that code removed. It was a desperate, last-minute gamble, but she wasn’t about to let the Leviathans’ crazy-ass AI have the last and final word on their future. 

“That includes the Citadel. It’s a Reaper construct - or, well, it was made by the same race that made the AI that made the Reapers. Long story. Keepers are basically nothing but Reaper code housed in an organic body, like the husks. I think the only reason they’re still alive at all - and the station is somewhat functional - is because of what the Protheans did to disrupt the signal between the Citadel and the Reapers. It changed the code, or added to it, I’m not sure.” She sighed. “Most long-range comms systems are based on Citadel tech, which is of course, also Reaper tech.” 

Only Sarus seemed to really follow what she was saying. “So what do we do, Commander?” he asked. “Can we...can we re-code the communications systems somehow?”

“That’s my thinking,” she told him with a nod of approval. “If it’s safe enough for anyone to recover parts of my armor or omni-tool, we may be able to build a good old-fashioned ham radio. Omni-tools are based off the touch-interface of Prothean tech, so there’s a good chance it’ll give us a starting point. I have the Alliance frequencies saved as hard copy, so even if the tool’s broken, I can recover the data with another tool or a couple cribbed together datapads.” 

Mimi blinked. “Wait, I’m confused. What does pork have to do with a radio? I have a working omni-tool, though.” She flashed her wrist at Shepard.

Shepard laughed, and winced as the motion hurt her ribs. “Sorry, just an expression. Basically, if we can salvage enough comms equipment - from what’s left of Docking Control, maybe? Try the Alliance docks, if we can get to it - I’m most familiar with that tech, but runner up is Hierarchy tech. If we can salvage enough, I think we can amplify the signal from my omni-tool enough to ping Earth below. They’ll send up crews to look for survivors at some point, but let’s not wait around, hmm? There are turians and quarians planetside who could use those dextro rations. Sarus, can you lead the team to look for tech salvage? Know what you’re looking for?”

He nodded, and held himself a little more upright. “Yes, ma’am.” 

“I’m rambling because I’m tired, but you followed all that?” 

His mandibles twitched in surprised amusement. “Yes, ma’am.” 

“Good. Mimi, Baask - you two found the dextro rations from the camps, right? Up on the Presidium, there used to be a huge hydroponics food production garden showcasing agriculture from all over known space, levo and dextro. We need to see if there’s any surviving plant life so we can potentially set up a self-sustaining way to feed people. The relays are going to be down, I’m sure, and I don’t know for how long. We can’t let our allies starve, either up here or on Earth.” 

They nodded in understanding. Good to know she could still channel ‘Commander Goddamned Shepard’ with two broken legs and a handful of other injuries while laying on a pallet of torn blankets in a maintenance duct. She looked at each of them, and met their eyes one by one. “We’re going to get out of this. We’re going to survive. We’re going to rebuild and be better than before. It’s not going to be easy, but we are going to do it. You’re all honorary crew members of the  _ Normandy  _ now, got it? That puts you at the front of the effort, and it means I trust you. All of you,” she added, specifically looking at Baask. “I promise.” 

The batarian seemed to relax a little, which was good. Shepard leaned back down and curled her good arm around the two young, now sleeping turians. “All right, everyone get some sleep.” 

“I’ll take first watch,” Sarus volunteered. 

“No,” Shepard murmured, “let Eima take it, she slept earlier and you look like you need a rest, soldier. Know your limits.” 

To his credit, his pause was long enough to bite back whatever argument he wanted to make. “Yes, ma’am,” he replied at last.

She smiled, not even bothering to open her eyes. “You’ll do, Lieutenant Sarus Kavrik.” She heard the intake of air and the subtle humming of his subharmonics in pride. Time had improved her understanding of turians to the point where she could read them nearly as well as humans. Time, and of course, Garrus. 

_ I love you too, Shepard. _

…

**2183 - The Citadel**

  
  


Time was unfortunately not going to be on their side. 

“The Geth,” Garrus said flatly. She could see that impatient anger simmering under the surface in the way he held his head stiffly, mandibles tightly pulled in. 

“Yeah,” she answered, keeping her expression neutral out of habit until she remembered just who was standing next to her. She sighed. “I know, big guy.” 

It had been months since the incident in the Mako, as she thought of it. The only other time they’d really been alone together was after Virmire, and that had only been a few words and a bottle of bourbon - with Garrus using the excuse of wanting to try something he found out was chirality neutral to join her - as she cleaned out Alenko’s locker. She was starting to think what had happened hadn’t actually...happened. That it had been the product of some fever dream of loneliness. 

Yet sometimes she’d catch him looking at her in a way that made her heart stutter to a halt. So maybe it wasn’t all in her head? Shit. This is why they needed the time to figure it all out. 

Going from the most intense orgasm she’d had in years to nothing but friendly professionalism hadn’t exactly been difficult; after all, they had a fantastic camaraderie on or off the battlefield. She’d catch herself, though, in the shower sometimes or late at night, remembering the texture of his tongue, the pant of hot breath on her skin, the way he watched her as he trailed his hands all over her body. The memories would stir a near irresistible urge to just march down to the cargo bay or drag him up to her quarters, and the CIC crew be damned if they overheard. 

She didn’t of course, but sometimes it was tough not to. Wrex had downright refused to go on a mission with both her and Garrus at the same time once or twice, citing the stink of pheromones. He’d stopped after she threatened to airlock him next time he said it too loudly, and Garrus bought him nose plugs as a joke. Even if Wrex had nearly broken Garrus’s own nose in response, Shepard had to admit it was pretty funny. 

Also incredibly hot to watch Garrus display just how good a fighter he was when he nearly took Wrex down in that impromptu sparring session. She knew he was skilled, of course. Turians trained from their adolescence in military service, and Garrus had proved what a tactician he was time and again. She hadn’t seen him fight in close quarters like that before, though. He was  _ fast _ . Agile and stronger than she’d guessed, too. He made Wrex work for the victory, and that was something. 

She looked over at where he stood next to her, lost in thought while he looked out over the Presidium lake. “You know,” she said lightly, “ship doesn’t leave for another six hours, and I have two before I need to be back on board. You wanna get out of here?”

He let out a small laugh. “Would that I could, Shepard. I have-”

“Oh,” she interrupted, embarrassed that her own libido had jumped the queue from her brain straight to her mouth, “sorry. Yeah, no. I get it.” 

“It’s not that I don’t want to-”

“No, I know. I understand. You’re on duty.” It didn’t sting. She wouldn’t let it sting. After all, Garrus was turian, and duty always came first. If she were honest, it did for her too. It didn’t mean he didn’t want to be with her.

He looked at her. “Shepard.” His voice lowered as he waited for her to meet his gaze. “Remember how I said you were adorable when you’re uncertain about something? You’re being super cute right now.” 

She snorted out a very undignified laugh. “Ass.” 

“Yeah, but I’m  _ your _ ass. Er…” He blinked at himself as she dissolved into giggles. “That didn’t…I meant more like I’m on your ass.” She laughed harder. “On your six, I mean. Ah, hell. This is terrible. I’m terrible. We’re just going to pretend this conversation never happened, apart from where I said I do want to, you know, talk about those tough questions we said we’d get to.” 

She patted his arm as she regained her breath. “Shit, Garrus. I’m going to miss having you around on board.” 

“But this way you get to look forward to shore leave.” 

Shepard winked. “Do I ever. I still owe you a round on the shooting range.” 

Garrus gave her the turian equivalent of a grin. “Well, I look forward to winning all manner of prizes next time you dock. By demonstrating my superior aim with...no, I’m just going to stop now while I’m ahead.” He shook his head slightly, the amusement fading. “Geth cleanup, of all things. You know what this is, Shepard. They want you out of the way.” 

She sighed. “I make too much noise. People are too scared right now and scared people make different choices in leadership, so that makes the Council super antsy. They’ll double down on anything that promotes stability. I should have seen this coming. Damn it all, I wish we’d never lost Nihlus. He seemed like he knew how to navigate the Council, and I feel like he’d have been on my side with these negotiations. He’d been a Spectre for years. They listened to him in a way they don’t want to listen to me.” 

“Yeah, but then you’d be around a sexier turian, and I’d be sad.” 

She grinned at him. “Oh, Garrus. There  _ is _ no sexier turian.” 

He turned the growl that rumbled in his subharmonics into a cough before any attention could be drawn their way. “Hell, Shepard. You’re really putting my commitment to duty to the test here.” 

“Put in for Spectre training like you wanted to. Then you can come with me.” She bit her lip as she winked at him again. “The teacher-and-apprentice dynamic might be kinda fun in lots of creative ways.” He groaned softly. “Until then, big guy, we got time.” 

Garrus sighed dramatically, making her chuckle again. “Yeah, I guess we do. Happy Geth hunting, Shepard.” 

…

**_Now - The Citadel_ **

  
  


Left to her own thoughts in the tunnel that served as a makeshift ER off the main C-Sec offices - or what was left of them after the Citadel interior had rearranged itself, shaking off the skin of the civilization they’d built up around it like a summer cicada - Shepard kept returning to the two blank years of her death. She’d still never really come to terms with it all, but it was easier to focus on others than on her own dysmorphia. 

_ it’s a body but not my body am I a clone am I an AI what is inside me where is my soul _

_ Shepard. Your Spirit is still you. I would know it anywhere. Trust me, Eileen. It’s you. _

They had time. That’s what she’d said to him out on the Presidium before she left on that last mission. Time to figure it out. Hard questions later. Easy stuff now. There was time. 

Wasted, all of it. How much better would it have been if she’d told him how she felt before she left? If she just made sure he knew what he meant to her? All those months on the  _ Normandy _ SR-1...yeah it was an Alliance crew, but she was acting as a Spectre. It was a Council mission. She was outside the chain of command, outside the regs, why couldn’t she have seen that? Why couldn’t she have said to hell with the human crew, I never take them with me on ground missions anyway? If they were worth the salt she thought they were, they’d get over it or they’d get off her ship. Why weren’t they both braver? 

Why had it taken her death and his two years of personal hell for them to realize there was nothing more important in the galaxy than answering those stupid, hard questions? Because the answers were simple: I love you. I want you. I don’t care what anyone else thinks. Be with me. We’re so good together. 

At times, she still hated herself for dying. During less charitable moments, she hated Joker for putting her in that position, though she knew it was only through his maneuvering that they’d gotten enough time to cover the escape pods at all. It wasn’t often she felt that way: compartmentalizing her failures had become second nature, after all. 

But when she thought about the look of exhausted disbelief and broken hope in Garrus’s face on Omega...when she thought of the dark cloud of self-loathing that surrounded him after his recovery and the distance it put between them for so long...the night after she’d stopped him from killing Sidonis, when she thought she’d lost even his trust...the warm, too warm blood and choking and  _ oh God if he dies here dies now her soul would die with him why hadn’t she seen it before… _

If the Normandy SR-1 hadn’t gone down...if she hadn’t died...if he’d never gone to Omega...if...if...if…

She knew better than to second guess the past. There were so many different turns time could have taken, and no way of knowing where any of them would have ended up. 

_ Your boyfriend has an order for you. _

She just had to get word out. Had to establish contact. Then she could figure out what happened to Garrus, to her crew. Her friends and family. The galaxy. 

“You’d better be alive, big guy,” she whispered to nothing and no one. 


End file.
